


Bedtime

by raelouise



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Play, Come Eating, Come play, D/s, Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raelouise/pseuds/raelouise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written in response to a Ben/Harry, Daddy kink prompt.</p><p> <i>The very first time he’d brought it up, Harry had half-argued for split second, keeping up some pretense or other, before ducking to nuzzle contentedly against the light scruff of Ben’s jawline- his version of a pup flopping down, belly up. Now he waits, on the days that they’ve planned to play, watching the clock more than the television. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime

“If you’re not in bed when I come up to check, there’ll be trouble, young man,” Ben tells Harry with quite some sincerity and serious eyes leveled at the younger boy- Harry four stairs up towards his attic bedroom already, Ben still paused at the first, “I’ve left your pajamas out on the bottom of the bed so you don’t need to waste time rooting some out, by the way. Now, blow me a kiss before you go so that I can check for toothpaste on your breath.”

Harry complies with the kiss and Ben’s nostrils flare before he nods to him, quite satisfied. They’d brushed their teeth side by side at the basin, he’d seen Harry spit Colgate foam into the plughole not ten minutes before, but they’d stepped out of the bathroom and into their roles and so, fitting changes were to be made as their night continued on. Ben always insisted that routine was terribly important at the end of the day, for getting kids to sleep, and he was a stickler for that rule. 

The very first time he’d brought it up, Harry had half-argued for split second, keeping up some pretence or other, before ducking to nuzzle contentedly against the light scruff of Ben’s jawline- his version of a pup flopping down, belly up. Now he waits, on the days that they’ve planned to play, watching the clock more than the television. 

“Oh!” Ben adds, as Harry ascends higher and he turns to go tidy up the kitchen to pass some time, “Did you nip to the loo?”

Harry blushes a glowing scarlet at the question, which had been Ben’s intent, and huffs out a stubborn little breath, “Yes,” He mumbles all soft and only able to think of how Ben likes to dig his blunt fingers into his abdomen when he’s horribly desperate to go, hurting with it, “I did, Daddy.” 

“Good boy,” Ben says and then he’s rounding away from the stairs and Harry takes the rest of them almost in one leap, long legs helping him in his rush.

The waiting pajamas are a pair of Harry’s sweats and one of Ben’s t-shirts. It doesn’t quite smell of him, but has a home-from-home-detergent familiarity all the same. It swamps Harry too, of course, but he feels safe, being nestled inside of it’s over washed folds. An extension of Ben’s protective arms. He wriggles into it and the sweats as quickly as he can- falling clumsily out of his own jeans first- and then dives into the bed. Knees tucked towards his belly once he’s inside of it, dark blue quilt all the way up to his throat.

Sleepiness tugs at him, creeping across from the edges of the mattress to weigh down his eyelashes and make him yawn, but he knows to wait until he sees the shadowy shape of Ben’s broadness at the door way- peeking as though he’s checking up on a child first, and then coming inside. 

“Are you asleep?” He whispers, even though Harry’s eyes are wide open, and then he sits himself down on the bed. It creaks and dips beneath his bulk and Harry just beams- hugging himself beneath the blanket as a shock of excitement darts from his heart to his toes, “No? Are you not sleepy, little love?”

“Nearly am, Daddy,” Harry says and his cock begins to fatten up in his pants. As it always does when Ben’s body heat swallows up his own, when Ben’s big hands find their way to his hair- or his nose, one finger stroking over the bridge of it to make Harry’s eyes flutter closed. 

“Want Daddy to help?” Ben asks and he doesn’t really have to look for the nod that follows, as predictable as the sun rising in the morning, but he wouldn’t ever want to miss something vital when Harry’s allowing him such power, so he does.

It comes, and Ben gestures for Harry to sit up against the pillows lining the headboard, folding down the quilt to Harry’s calves once he has. Harry rucks his t-shirt up enough that his lap shows and then stuffs his hands beneath his bum, gaze as guileless as he can manage when he knows what’s approaching. 

“Oh, you are my best boy,” Ben whispers as he moves in to grasp Harry’s burgeoning hard-on through his pants, conscience of the hour and so not wasting any time, “Of course you wouldn’t be able to sleep like this, you poor thing.”

Harry ruts up against Ben’s palm as much Ben rubs at him- rocking frantically and flexing his fingers beneath himself. He grunts too, but it’s quiet, tiny, breathy noises- Ben’s murmured words of encouragement only whispered, but still far louder. When it had been new to him, Harry had liked to hear Ben urging him to be quiet, _ssh baby, it’s night time_ , but now he just knows. Is proud to have learned, especially when Ben’s lips bump against his temple and he tells him that he’s doing ever so well, pleasing his Daddy like no other boy can. 

Sometimes, Ben slips his hand past Harry’s waist band and goes skin-to-skin, but often he likes to remind himself of how he can get Harry furiously worked up by simply stroking him through his sweats. Shaping him, shaft to tip, through the cotton- watching precome wet his boy’s front. Harry never complains, and his orgasm is never ever any less intense. 

He comes quite suddenly with a lovely whimper and a fidget. His nails scratching at the sheet beneath him, toes curling up tightly, hidden by the quilt, and his eyes gleaming in the low light cast by the single bedside lamp. His pants darken with his load, too and Ben, being gentle about it, milks him of it until he’s quite messy. All of the stickiness trapped against his skin.

“Dirty, Daddy,” He mumbles and Ben arches an eyebrow, chin tilting up every so slightly in a way that says _oh, is that so, kid?_ He hooks his fingers into the elastic of the sweats, tugs them out until he can see Harry’s come clinging around his softening dick and the firm pouch of his belly, and nods with a brief shrug-

“Would seem so, little love. You going to get some sleep now?”

Harry’s pout is a thing of beauty but it doesn’t wield much power at one am as far as Ben, as his Daddy, is concerned. He tries it, but Ben just gives him a short shake of his head and another gesture, one that means _lie back down_. He covers him up once he has, quilt right up to his throat once again, and presses a sweet kiss to his clammy forehead.

“Sleep tight, sweet dreams,” He says, unable to keep himself from giving Harry another kiss. Afterwards, he flicks off the lamp and goes on his way- leaving the door slightly ajar in his wake.

He would certainly stay, if Harry asked it of him- snuggle up beneath the covers with him, being the big spoon- but if he doesn’t, Harry gets to be deliciously deviant in the dark. 

For a minute, he waits- trying to quell his own breathing in case it muffles the sound of Ben reaching his own room- and then he exhales ever so slowly, with his eyes squeezing tightly shut and his hand shifting down over his tummy. It reaches waistband of his sweats, his toes flex as they had when he’d first come, and then his fingers sneak down another inch so that they can skate through his own release. 

He strokes his inner thighs with it, feather light and tingling and something about it making him as sleepy as he needs to be, rather than working him up again. The pads of his fingers swirling through it, he casts his mind back to how fond Ben’s expression had been, to the dipping of the mattress beneath him and the sureness of his touch, and has to stuff his sticky fingers into his mouth to muffle his moan from the memory.

That’s how he he finally drifts off to sleep in the very center of the big bed. His Daddy’s eyes behind his own, three of fingers still in his mouth, tongue working lazily at the taste of them, and his pajamas stuck to his sleep-warm skin.


End file.
